


im stuck breathing in the scent of you

by Kawaii_Kitty360



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Dubious Consent, Existential Crisis, Grinding, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sexsomnia, regret probably - Freeform, well kind of its more like a reality check yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaii_Kitty360/pseuds/Kawaii_Kitty360
Summary: Tom's new flat has three bedrooms. Each room has one bed. When Tord shows up unexpectantly one night, Tom is all for making him sleep in the living room. Too bad his friends actually have souls.AKA: A bullshit plot point to make Tom and Tord share a bed.





	im stuck breathing in the scent of you

**Author's Note:**

> So i know in canon tom actually just gets himself a room and i suppose helps edd and matt get their rooms as well or something, which leaves like what three more neighbors that they're supposed to have, right? well, i'm stupid and i always imagine it as if tom got himself an entire new {3-bedroom} flat (as the summary says) because that would give everyone more space, instead of having to cram everything up in their lounge/kitchen/bedroom combo that it seems they actually have. you can imagine it as if they got some more money and this is not the same place they moved into in The End if it makes you feel better

This was stupid. This was so, so fucking stupid. Tom had put all his money into this place; shouldn't he be the one with the last say? 

Old habits die hard, apparently, because even under Tom's roof, Edd's word still held law.

On a chilly autumn's night, an all-too-familiar ghost showed up after somehow acquiring their new address. Tom wanted to slam the door in his face, but stupid Edd had stepped up and convinced Tom to let Tord stay. Tom argued. Oh, did Tom argue against him, but then Matt had to poke his stupid head out of his room, and, like the innocent soul he is, added his two cents, saying 'yeah, Tom should let Tord stay! I mean, he only blew up our last house and punched me in the face, but sure! How bad could it be?'

Tom reluctantly agreed after much more pestering, but ordered Tord to sleep on the sofa and said they could talk about what the final plan would be at any point after 3 in the fucking morning. Cuz that's what it was. It was three in the goddamn morning and Tord decided that, after months of silence, yeah, this was probably an okay time to show his stupid face to the people he stabbed in the back.

The scar on Tom's arm itched as Edd further convinced Tom that, 'no, Tord looks like absolute shit and should stay on a bed for the night'. However, the only person with a big enough bed to hold two people would be Tom, because he bought the fucking place so of course he got the master bedroom. 

Oh, yeah, Edd, that was a fucking smart idea. At least Tord had half the decency to look scared at the implications of sleeping in the same bed as Tom. 

Tom, of course, went to protest because why the fuck would he let this crazy communist fuck anywhere near his being, let alone when he was vulnerable and they had less than a foot of space apart from each other, but Edd had thrown his hand demonstratively to the very tired, very ratty, and very grimy snake that was Tord, and that was enough. It shouldn't have been, but years of following Edd's word had disciplined him into listening to what Edd told him, and if Edd told him to sleep next to somebody who could probably kill him before Tom had even closed his no-eyes completely, you bet your ass Tom refused.

With a loud yell in aggravation, Tom decided he was going to sleep on the couch and told Tord not to touch anything in his room if he wanted to wake up with his hands still attached to his arms.

But ever-the-fucking-gentleman Tord insisted that Tom sleep on his own bed and Tord could handle the sofa for the night.

To which Edd insistently refused because of course he fucking did.

By this point, Tom was too tired to even stand up straight and ended up throwing his hands in the air and somehow made it to his room while in the middle of blacking out. That was it. Edd had won. Tom had managed to tell Tord to take a fucking shower before he stumbled completely in and nearly passed out the moment he even looked at his bed.

Tom had no clue how long he was lying on the bed, not even under the covers, gooseflesh covering his arms before his door clicked shut and hands were on his shoulders, shaking him awake enough to muster the hardest glare one could procure while still half asleep. Tord merely chuckled and slipped under the covers. When Tom finally forced his sorry ass under them as well, he felt fabric that was definitely not jeans brush against his ankle and realized Edd must have leant him an extra pair of trousers to sleep in. The room was quiet enough that he could even hear the clunking of the washing machine. 

Stupid Edd and his stupid empathy and his stupid ability to forgive and trust too easily. What a fucking pain.

Tom forced himself to lay as close to the edge as he could to avoid Tord as much as possible, and felt the weight lessen as Tord did the same. Even if it was annoying and Tom was pissed beyond belief that Tord thought it was remotely okay to show back up after what he did, Tom was way too tired and tried to fall asleep with hopes that he'd wake up, Tord would be gone, and they would never see his stupid face ever again. 

It wasn't even five and all hopes were crushed.

Tom had, surprisingly, managed to actually fall asleep despite having a homicidal monster three feet away from him, but it wasn't like he woke up and it was morning. No, instead, he woke up less than an hour later thanks to the sudden heat, weight, and pressure against his body. Not to mention the soft fabric rubbing against his legs which made him instantly realize that it was not Ringo who had managed to come in to snuggle. There was no way Matt or Edd had slinked in, either; they knew Tom to be a wild sleeper, and if either had nightmares, they usually went to each other. Tom was left out of it, mainly because of his bad people skills and tendencies to be a heavy sleeper. 

Which only left one horrible, disgusting option that made Tom feel all kinds of revolted.

_Tord._

Not only was Tord snuggled completely against Tom, polyester trousers rubbing against the bare of Tom's legs, his arms had managed to sneak their way around him, keeping him trapped against Tord's chest.

Tom thought about all the different ways he could kill Tord when the unwanted guest suddenly breathed out with a slight whine, hips moving slightly against Tom's back, and things were made a lot worse.

Not only did Tord come into their new home, unwanted and uninvited, but he was also in the process of assaulting Tom- in his sleep.

Who knew the hentai-addicted fuck was a sexsomniac.

As if it couldn't get any better.

Tord's grip was firm, surprisingly so for a man deep in sleep, clutched around Tom's waist and keeping him flush against Tord's body while said Commie rocked his hips against Tom's in a steady rhythm. Tom would give nothing more than to break away and toss Tord out his window, but some part of his brain advised him not to move. 

So he didn't.

Instead, he stayed completely still as Tord breathed against him, huffing into his hair and keeping the rhythm he'd built for himself. Tom did his best to ignore it, but with each breath, a soft moan was attached, just barely noticeable deep within his throat, and the noise was sending weird signals throughout his body. Hot breath ghosted over the shell of his ear, and Tom hissed, body jerking involuntarily away, but Tord's grip tightened, pulling Tom back.

At least he'd taken a shower before all this. If Tom had to deal with the heavy smell of sweat, dirt, and, no doubt, unbearable cigarette smoke, Tom would have probably shoved Tord off the bed by now. 

Thankfully, Tom had successfully persuaded him to shower, so at least being this close was bearable.

The smell, that is. The smell was bearable. Because he smelt clean. All the touching- _that_ was unbearable. Tord needed to learn the definition of personal space if he wanted to live to see the next sunrise.

Hopefully Tord would have his own bed by the next sunrise, if he didn't decide to just leave.

Of course, that was most likely asking for too much. 

Tord knew better than to just show up and leave immediately again. At least there was no possibility of him busting out another Giant Robot or some garbage, being as this was a whole new flat. 

Still, Tord was an untrustworthy communist, and Tom wouldn't let his guard down no matter what. Not again.

Tom was forced from his thoughts rather rudely as Tord snuggled even closer, and Tom pushed back, annoyed, drawing another purr from the sleeping man behind him.

Oh.

That... shouldn't have been as hot as it was.

Thoroughly disturbed, Tom decided enough was enough and tried to get up and away from the horny mess that was Tord, just to be stopped because Tord had a death grip around Tom's waist and was holding him firmly in place as he rode out whatever hentai-fueled wet dream he was in the middle of having. Needless to say, Tom was _not_ happy with the situation, and was not only feeling betrayed by his stupid friends for letting Tord come back, _again_ , but also by his body, which was deciding without him that, hey, maybe getting grinded on from behind by a horrible commie fuck isn't that bad! Even if Tom was willing himself not to get turned on by the gruff noises coming mere inches from the shell of his ear, it was ultimately useless. 

He hadn't even been awake for ten minutes and he was ready to murder. 

Guess that's just the effect Tord has on him. 

Experimentally, as he was getting really sick of the constant movement against his backside and decided that if this was just going to be a thing that was happening he might as well have some fun with it, Tom pushed back, rocking slightly into Tord's groin, and holy pornstars in an orgy party that was the sexiest goddamn noise he had ever heard in his life. Tom had to physically slap a hand over his mouth as he stared, eyes white with shock, into the darkness of his room. Tord only snuggled closer, a breathy whine wafting over the back of Tom's neck, and he shivered. 

Tom prayed that neither Edd nor Matt heard the moan that Tord just emit because that was-

That was a lot. 

If Tom didn't have an erection before, he sure as fuck did now. Honestly! He didn't even know people could actually make a sound like that!

But damn, did he want to hear it again.

The urge to grind back against Tord was fighting with the urge to fight his way to the bathroom, even if he had to drag Tord along with him. Maybe if he threw the Norski in a cold shower it'd knock some sense into him and he'd leave again and stay gone this time.

 _Unlikely,_ Tom decided for the fifth time that night as he scootched back until every part of his body was flush against Tord's. Besides, Tord was the one all up in his space; Tom was just adapting.

Any chances of escape were tossed out the window, into the street bin as Tord decided to get even closer (how was that even possible they were practically melting into each other by this point-), hooking a leg over Tom's hip and rolling forward and sweet baby Jehovah Tom was seeing stars. Breathing out a swear, Tom reached down to grab Tord's ankle and try to pry him off, but it was absolutely useless because Tord was evidentially not the type to miss leg day and had the leg strength to crush a watermelon between his calves alone. 

Tom pushed the thought out of his mind and tried again. And again. By the third time, Tord made a type of keening noise and snuggled closer, mumbling a pathetic-sounding and drawn-out "noohh~" and Tom decided that Tord wasn't budging and this was probably how he died. 

Jeezus, Tord was practically on top of him at this point, and he was still rocking against him. It was less aggressive, thankfully, but it was twice as aggravating. At this point, they'd be sleeping with each other in more than the literal sense!

Tom had given up trying to move Tord's leg, and, as he let his arm fall limp, not-so-accidentally managed to brush his wrist over the growing tent in his pants and glared at himself as his hips jerked towards the slight contact. 

God, this was just pathetic. 

If Tord was getting off, why couldn't Tom?

Yeah, solid reasoning, he chastised himself as he brought his hand up and began to palm himself lightly. He shivered, feeling parts of him tense and untense as his hips hitched forward, body twitching. 

Absolutely disgusting. He couldn't believe he was actually getting off to the thought of _Tord_. 

Thanks to Tom's movements as he half-jacked or whatever, Tord made a sort of noise- Tom could feel his Adam's apple bob as he hissed slightly into his hair, and Tom choked on his own breath. Tord rolled his hips particularly deep and sighed out a two-syllable word that almost brought a surprised Tom over the edge.

Tord had moaned his name.

It was one thing for Tord to call him "Tom" because that was what everyone fucking called him- he was Tom, a single syllable like the rest of them. It was easier to say, and Tom was used to being called that.

However, Tord was an absolute asshole, even when he was asleep, apparently, because Tord did not moan out "Tom" like any of his past flings had done. No, Tord decided to take it to a whole new level of fucked up and moan out "Thomas", gruff with his accent and saturated in lust and Tom's body decided that, no, he was incorrect in his previous assumption because _that_ was probably the hottest thing he had ever heard. 

And of course it had to be uttered by the disgusting Commie fuck named Tord. 

And ever-literate Tom decided that "Fuck" was an appropriate response to that. 

In a way, it was. In fact, that word summed up the situation pretty well:

_Fuck_ that. _Fuck_ this. _Fuck_ Tord. _Fuck_ Tord's stupid accent and _fuck_ the fact that Tom seriously wanted to be _fucked_ by it.

The whole situation was _fucked. Up._

Tord was having a fucking _dream_ about him. About Tom- no, about _Thomas_. Tord was having a dream where he was literally _fucking **Thomas**_

So yeah. Turns out that "Fuck" was definitely an appropriate response. 

It took a minute for Tom to actually recuperate from the shock of what he had just heard and another to realize that he hadn't stopped moving his fucking hand against his pants. Which was stupid, because he wasn't some stupid fucking kid finding his stupid dad's naughty magazines and exploring himself for the first time.

No. He was a fucking adult too old to be palming himself through his pants because some asshole decided that they were going to rub their dick all over his ass. 

Yet here he is, doing just that. 

Everything was just fucked, fucked, fucked- fuckity _fucked!_

And the absolute worst part of it all was that, deep down, Tom knew. He knew that he had the ability to worm his way out from underneath Tord, to stomp to the kitchen, to get absolute shitfaced before the day even began before he fell into an alcohol-induced coma and never woke up again. He knew he could do that. He just had to run the risk of waking Tord up. It should have been easy. But Tom still allowed himself to stay wedged between Tord's legs, getting frotted against, just closing his eyes and deciding that it was something to deal with in the morning.

Because Tom had opened his eyes to look at his alarm clock and it was half past four and he could only be grateful that Edd and Matt didn't wake up until 8. Usually, Tom would be the last one to wake up, but there were rare instances he was the first, starting the day at an ungodly 6 AM after repeated attempts to fall back asleep proved to be futile. 

Much like this moment: awake way to fucking early with no hopes of ever falling asleep until Tord was done with his little bitch-in-heat bit, using half-assed excuses to justify why he was getting off on the breaths and groans of the man he thought he had killed. 

Tom didn't even last another two minutes before he decided that enough was enough and no, he wasn't going to shove Tord off the bed like he probably should have done the moment he woke up with the Norski in his personal space, but instead do something way worse and he sent a silent prayer up into whatever fucked up god let this happen to please don't let Tord wake up as he carefully hooked a thumb into the waistband of his pants and began to push them down. He tried to accomplish the task without knocking Tord with his elbow too much, because Lord knew that the simple motion would probably make Tord wake up _now_ and not when Tom wanted him to wake up however long ago it was when this all began, because life just hated him like that, and he had, amazingly, managed to pull the hem down to just barely over the pathetic, stupid erection he had when it happened. Because of course it fucking happened.

Tord's hips stilled, and a chill ran through Tom's spine. Oh, no.

Yep. In the next instant, Tord was sitting up, Tom spun, and their eyes connected. Panic meets panic and embarrassment. The sound of the elastic in Tom's pants slapping against his skin is criminal.

Tord was gawking, eyes flicking around the room, across Tom's body, and it took him a second before a hand had slapped over his mouth and he was scrambling, caught up in the blankets. Tom reacted quicker than the thought he was able, grabbing Tord by his upper arm and yanking him back down into the mess of blankets. They wrestled around a bit until both of them were free, but as Tord once again attempted to escape, Tom slammed him down onto the bed and kept him there.

"Let go!" Tord choked, and Tom blinked at him owlishly. He sounded almost... frightened.

"No," Tom told him firmly, and Tord bucked up. The motion nearly knocked Tom's grip off, but he steadied and continued to hold him down. "You wouldn't let me go, so why should I do the same?"

"I was-" Spit caught in Tord's throat, making him sound hoarse, and he swallowed, audibly, trying to yank his wrists free. No dice. "I was sleeping-!"

A cold feeling ripped through Tom's veins. Wow, that was something.

"Are..." Tom stopped, loosening his grip slightly, wetting his lips. "Are you scared of me?"

Tord went rigid beneath him, and Tom almost felt bad. Almost. Not quite. Any reason he had to be scared was his own fault. 

"No, I am not scared of you," Tord snapped, pushing up until Tom wasn't hovering over him and was, instead, straddling him, because that was infinitely better than it was originally. Way to go, Tord, you absolute shithead. "Why would I ever be scared of you? I'm more scared of a-"

Tom pressed the heels of his hands into Tord's shoulders, using them as a brace as he rolled his hips. Tord choked, whole body jerking as he reached up to grab Tom's love handles and sneer. "Tom," he warned, deep and dark and dangerous and Tom shivered. 

"What? So it's okay for you to rub against me all fucking night but the moment I try to do the same, it's not okay anymore?" It was the sleep-deprivation talking, Tom told himself as he glared down at Tord's ~~flustered~~ face, scowling back up at him. "That's bullshit, Tord. You really piss me off, you know that?"

"Tom, you have about five seconds to get off of me before-"

"Before what, Tord? Huh?" Fruitless. The whole night had just been annoyingly _fruitless_ and it's aggravating because the fruit is literally right in front of him but he knows he shouldn't grab for it. It's a forbidden fruit, and Tom knows it- he knows it, but he still stares, still wants, still yearns for it.

Besides, everyone knows that some things just don't come without risk.

Tom reached down, then, taking one hand off of Tord's shoulder to grab the bulge in Tord's trousers, giving it a quick squeeze. Tord's hips jerk, and he's using his free hand to push back against Tom's shoulder, trying to use the one hand to dislodge him from his spot on Tord's lap. It's a weak action- pathetic, even, with Tord more petting him than actually trying to move him. Like he was trying to decide if he wanted Tom to get off of him or get off _on_ him. 

Tom decided to cancel that thought because there was no way he was going to let it get that far. He was just trying to prove a point; he didn't want to be whipping dicks out left and right. 

At least, that's what he told himself.

Like, seriously. This was _Tord_ \- the backstabbing communist freakshow that trashed their house and killed one of their neighbors and came back from the dead acting like nothing ever happened for the _second fucking time_ , like he was going to make a habit out of it! 

Was this what he was going to do next? Fuck, or be fucked by Tom, and then go on his merry way as if he didn't just come in and unceremoniously fuck up their lives- _his_ life for the second, if not third time?!

No way. Tom wouldn't let him have it so easy. No way in Hell. 

The hand that was on his shoulder now gripped his wrist painfully, causing Tom to grimace as Tord pulled the hand away from his pants. "Thomas-!"

Okay. No. That was definitely enough. More than enough, in fact. Exceeded all amounts of being remotely enough and was spilling all down the container and making a mess all over the place.

"Fuck you," Tom spat as he rolled back onto his heels. Or, well, at least he tried to. Because Tord still hadn't let go of his wrist, or his hip, for that matter, and so it seemed the tables had been turned back to how they were, and Tom was unable to move, held in place on top of Tord's thighs because that was definitely where he wanted to be in that moment. Fucking Christ.

What a goddamn pain.

Tord pulled, suddenly, forcing Tom's body to fall forward, catching himself on the pillows next to Tord's head, going cross-eyed to meet Tord's gaze past their touching noses. "What are you trying to do, Jehovah?" Tord's voice was low- dangerous, even, accent thick, and the warmth of his breath covered Tom's face. Tom yanked his wrist, but Tord's grip was strong and unforgiving, holding him close with purpose. "Trying to prove a point? You shouldn't be playing with fire, Thomas, unless you know what you want to get out of it."

Want out of it? Tom didn't _want_ anything out of it. What he _wanted_ was Tord to get out of their lives, and stay out- for good, until the only thing they saw of him was his mugshot on TV when he got arrested for the crimes he committed that added up to £1.500.000 and his face on a wanted poster. But what you want isn't what you always get, and instead, Tord showed back up for no goddamn reason and now Tom was straddling him!! Because, yeah, that fucking made a load of sense.

A grin stretched across Tord's face, the movement bringing Tom back out of his thoughts. Guess he hesitated for a bit too long, and now Tord thought that he had won. Stupid fucking Tord. 

"Fuck. You," Tom repeated with a snarl.

Tord raised an eyebrow, shrugged, said, "If that's what you want," and slammed their lips together. No hesitation, no second thought, no snide remarks- just an instant reaction to a fucking idiom. Fucking disgusting. 

He hated him.

Tom reeled back, summoning every bit of his nonexistent core strength to pull back as far as he could, but it wasn't far enough. Tord followed, letting himself get pulled along with Tom as he sat up, their lips only disconnecting for a second before Tord was on him again, pushing him back even farther until Tom fell against the bed, head hitting the edge and legs bending around Tord's waist.

Great. Now the tables had definitely been flipped. But it's not like Tom even had any time to recollect that information, being as Tord was trying to suffocate him with his weight and lips. Tom's mind was spinning, spiraling out as every one of his senses got filled with "what the fuck Tord", and Tord was _still kissing him._

Tom, however, was very avid in keeping his mouth closed and unresponsive, defiant and intent on forcing himself to not give in because what was even happening. They were supposed to hate each other- they'd almost killed each other on multiple occasions, even before Tord left! There was no sexual tension between them- this made no sense!!

And yet--

Tom made the noise equivalent to "!!?!" as Tord suddenly pressed his weight down onto Tom's pelvis, grinding on him, hard and deep and Tom's hips chased the friction as Tord smirked against his lips, teasing and taunting and _fuck--_

Tom gasped and Tord shoved his tongue down his throat. Tord's hands were in his hair, running across his chest, squeezing his thighs, cupping his face, deepening the kiss and everything was just Tord, Tord, Tord, _Tord, Tord--_

Tom's hands tangled in warm fabric and he bit down.

Tord snarled, pulling back, and Tom threw his head to the side with a sputtering gasp, taking his hand out of the tangle of Tord's shirt to wipe the build-up of slobber off his mouth. Tord chuckled above him, and he looked up to see, even in the dark of the room, the smirk on Tord's face as he looked at his fingers. 

"You made me bleed," he announced, as if Tom didn't already know that. That was what he was going for, in fact.

Actually, no, he intended to bite Tord's tongue off, but sometimes you can't get that lucky.

"That's what you get for shoving your tongue down my throat," Tom rasped, and a piercing cold ripped through him as Tord met his gaze.

"Is that what I get?" Tord asked, growling, leaning close to Tom's face again. "Tell me, Tom, if I follow your logic, does that mean I can bite you because you bit me first?"

It wasn't like Tord was going to wait for an answer- even if he did, it wasn't like he was going to listen to it. Tom should've expected it, but the feeling of his sharp-ass canines breaking skin was still enough of a surprise to draw a choked-off ~~moan~~ gasp out of the British man. Maybe it was how sharp his fucking teeth are gOD he must sharpen them or something holy _crap he drew blood-!_

Tom twitched as Tord released the hold on his neck, dragging the tip of his tongue against the puncture wounds as if that would soothe the pulsating hurt. Even if it did, any amends were taken back when he ran his thumb across the wound with a satisfied-sounding, "There. Now we're even."

"I hate you," Tom grumbled, and Tord cooed.

"Oh, I know."

And then they were kissing, the metallic taste of blood from both Tord's and Tom's fresh wounds mingling together with salvia and the faint taste of the mouthwash Tord must've used after the shower as Tord tangled his fingers into the untamed curls of Tom's magnificent bedhead, and Tom's hands latched onto Tord's hips, using the hold to push him closer, closer, closer until Tord was moaning into his mouth and tugging on his hair.

Tom hissed as Tord yanked his head to the side, moving his mouth to nip at his ear, along his jaw, pressing a kiss to his neck before closing his mouth around the skin and sucking an irate mark, stark red against the pale expanse, without teeth this time which Tom was glad for because he wasn't sure if he could handle that type of pain twice in a row. Tom grabbed a fistful of shirt and yanked, breath hitching as his fingers scrambled, pulling the shirt up enough to drag his blunt nails against Tord's back, earning a gratifying grunt and a warning with Tord's front teeth. Tom settled, then, with just keeping his hands tangled in the fabric, pushing the heels of his palms down on Tord's back as he arched into him with a choked-off puff of air. A second later, Tord popped off Tom's neck, pressing a light kiss to the abused skin.

"Stop being so fucking weird and let me go," Tom mumbled and Tord chuckled into his ear, sending a ripple of gooseflesh over the brit's body. "You're taking this farther than I--"

Crap. 

"Oh?" Tord purred, pulling slightly away to hover over him, holding himself up on his arms, and Tom let his legs go limp, turning his head as his feet hit the mattress. "Than you what? Do you have something to tell me, Tom?"

"Fuck off, Tord."

"Because," he continued, pressing their hips together and Tom winced, "if you don't, then your body sure does. And I think your body wants to go farther than you think."

" _Fuck off!_ " Thomas roared, shoving Tord as hard as he could, and Tord raised his eyebrows as he fell back, standing on his knees and looming over the smaller male below him as he pulled his legs back and rabbit-kicked Tord's shoulders, making him lose balance and hit the pillows. A sharp pain snaked up Tom's left foot after it connected with something that was definitely not flesh of any sort, and he hissed as he, too, lost balance and slid off the bed, landing on his shoulder blades with a 'thump', legs folding over his head.

That was just embarrassing. 

The bed creaked and Tom continued to glare up at the dark ceiling as Tord peered over the edge, and Tom didn't even have to see the look on his face to know it was condescending and unamused.

"You started this," Tord told him, and Tom scoffed.

"You're the one who started grinding on me after showed up out of fucking nowhere. I thought you were dead."

Hands were reaching in the dark, grabbing onto his ankles and pulling them back towards the bed, and then Tord was between his legs, grabbing him by the hem of his shirt with one hand and using it to heave him up. Tom didn't realize he was actually helping until he was halfway on the bed again, but it was a little late to do anything as they fell back, Tom landing on Tord's lap again.

"We have all tomorrow to talk about that. For now, let's just finish this, yeah?"

Tom crossed his arms and glared. "And what is 'this', huh? What the fuck are we even doing right now?!"

Tord pat Tom's waist slightly with a hum and repeated the idiom that got them into this mess.

Tom flushed and denied the fact that he had ever said such a thing; this was a kid-friendly show- Tom didn't _swear_ and Tord told him, 'yeah, you did, and it's very rude to back out now that we're both hot and bothered', and Tom's wrist twitched as he fought the urge to backhand the stupid communist right then as he told him, 'no, Tord, sorry to burst your fucking bubble, but I don't want to fuck you; that's disgusting'.

And Tord had the audacity to pout! As if he was disappointed!!

Tom told him he hated him and Tord kissed him. 

This was just some intense fever dream, Tom told himself as he wrapped his arms around Tord's neck and tangled his fingertips into the hair decorating the nape of Tord's neck, drawing a moan from the Norswegian man under him. Any time now he was going to wake up, starfished against the covers, alone before he went to take a shower and get blackout wasted to blotch the memory of Tord from his brain like he had been for the past- god, what, three months?

Any time now...

Tord pushed Tom's hips against him and Tom moaned, which was disgusting and probably too loud, and he slapped a hand over his mouth so his fucking nasty noises didn't wake the entire apartment building, but Tord was grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from Tom's and glaring into his eyes as he rolled his hips against his ass again.

"Don't you fucking dare quiet yourself," Tord growled, and why was Tom breathing so damn hard? Fuck, he was going to have a heart attack- "Wake up the whole neighborhood, Tom. Let the world know you belong to me."

Their lips were brushing, gasping in each others air, rutting against each other further. Tom shivered, a soft moan escaping as Tord tightened his grip on his hips, grinding particularly hard against him. "You're so disgusting," Tom hissed, burying his face into Tord's neck and breathing in the familiar-smelling shampoo. "I hate you."

"Come on, Tom," Tord keened, nosing into Tom's hair, licking a stripe against his ear and nipping at it, building a steady rhythm, and Tom found himself wishing there were fewer layers between them. "Make noise for me."

But Tom wouldn't, keeping his throat closed, baring his teeth against Tord's neck as he brain clouded, pleasure taking over his senses and there were too many _fucking layers--_

For the second time that night, Tom made to take off his pants. As he sat up, Tord did the same thing, hiking both his trousers and the pants underneath down to his knees while Tom straight just yeeted his into the dark of the room.

Great, so much for not whipping any dick out. In fact, this was exactly what he didn't want: dicks have now been whipped out on the left _and_ on the right. This really was a downright nightmare.

A finger trailed the underside of his dick, then, and he twitched in surprise, looking down at Tord as Tord looked up at him. "At least someone's excited to see me," he joked, and Tom told him to shut up as he sat back onto Tord's thighs, the reality of the situation crashing onto him as his self-awareness peaked. Tom wasn't in the middle of some fucked up dream- no, he was literally sitting on Tord- his enemy- the communist he thought he fucking killed and who almost killed him and destroyed their home and they-- they hate each other! People who hate each other don't do this type of shit! What the fuck!!

Tord's hands clapped him on his cheeks lightly, in a type of domestic teasing way, and Tom thought he was about to be sick all over. His throat itched, suddenly very dry and suddenly Tom wanted nothing more than to get up and go drown himself in Smirnoff and deal with everything in the morning, like the fucking plan had been literally an hour prior, and Tord was staring at him with a look that Tord should never fucking look at him with and Tom's scar itched and suddenly Tord was too much for him at that moment.

"Hey."

Tom pushed Tord's hands away from his face and asked him 'what', fully aware of how much attitude and spite he brought into the word but couldn't help himself from doing so, but at least Tord didn't seem upset at it, instead took to gently clasping his hands around Tom's wrists and he was still staring at him-

Tord pressed a kiss against his nose, gentle and so sickeningly sweet that Tom may have actually vomited in his mouth a little, and then Tord was petting his hair and telling him that everything was okay when it was so blatantly not okay and Tom was so surprised on how well Tord was pretending it was okay and a look must've crossed over his face because Tord went to rub his arms comfortingly and Tom could tell that one of his arms was fucked up because it was way colder and a little stiffer and his fingers brushed over Tom's scar and Tom flinched and-

Tom felt his body move before he realized he was and they were kissing again and this was probably not the best way to handle pretty much anything, let alone their own fucked up relationship, but they were here and naked from the waist-down and Tom wasn't really hard anymore but who knew what shit would arise if they didn't just get it over with. If Tord thought anything of Tom's sudden existential crisis, he didn't say anything, at least humoring Tom by kissing him back (god who could ever love him-) and his left hand wrapped around both of their cocks and holy kangaroos playing hopscotch did that snap him away from his thoughts immediately.

"I hate you," Tom sputtered against Tord's lips, and Tord smirked back, catching Tom's lip between his teeth and toying with it.

"Classic-" he twisted his wrist around them- "stupid-" he nuzzled into Tom's neck- "Tom--"

When Tord sank his teeth into Tom's skin, he saw white, back arching surprisingly quick for a guy who just had a reality check mere seconds earlier, and Tord followed quickly behind, once again piercing through Tom's flesh to draw blood on the side opposite to that he first bit. The added pain only seemed to further Tom's libido, however, so he wasn't immediately complaining. They'd be a bitch to cover in the morning, but with Tord's possessiveness earlier, he doubted Tord would even let him cover them at all.

For a few minutes afterward, they both sat there, Tom still on top of Tord and both of them breathing in each other's air. Self-awareness threatened the back of Tom's consciousness, but he fought it off, glancing up at Tord to see the Norski looking to the side, looking thoroughly spent and exhausted to all hell.

Neither said a word as Tom stood, which he was honestly grateful for because what either of them say in this situation? "Oh, yeah, even though I hate you and wish you had died when I was so sure I killed you that day, I found surprising pleasure in wanking it with you"? How about no, thank you very much. Tom would be plenty happy if neither of them spoke of this moment again, and boy did he need a drink. Like need need. But, first and foremost, he needed to do something about the mess he and his supposed enemy just made all over themselves. 

Clean up first, get shitfaced later. 

The walk to and from the bathroom was pretty unceremonious: Matt wasn't awake for a late-night bathroom run and Edd hadn't gotten up to get another can of Cola (though it was entirely possible that he was up animating, but he usually wore headphones and listened to music as he did so)- even his head was surprisingly clear of any thoughts. When he looked in the mirror to examine the damage Tord did to his neck while he wet a cloth, it seemed more like he was staring at a stranger, neck purple and bleeding, and not even that could faze him. Everything had a strangely serene feel about it. Maybe it was just the post-pleasure haze that made it seem that way, and as he pushed open the door to his bedroom, not even seeing Tord, trousers back over his ass, back to the door on Tom's side of the bed (what was he talking about they didn't have designated _sides_ like a married couple the entire _bed_ was Tom's side of the bed-) was enough to spoil his mood as he tossed the damp towelette and hit the back of the communist's neck. Tord jumped, which was pretty amusing, and tossed a look over his shoulder as he used the cloth to clean up the most-likely-already-dry cummies coating his fingers. He then half-heartedly draped the cloth over the already-stained sheets and motioned to it like it was some great spectacle- something amazing to be marveled at. Tom rolled his eyes and yawned out, hard and deep and he winced as his jaw creaked, and by the time he wiped the tears out of his eyes, Tord had cleaned the small spot on the bed as best he could and handed the rag back. Tom took it gingerly, knowing exactly what was coating its surface with a sneer. 

When he left to drop it, along with their shirts, in the bathroom hamper to be washed later, he made a quick stop in the kitchen for a drink. 

He never made it back to his room.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you guys thought or if there are any mistakes cuz i don't proof read anything lmaooooo i might make another chapter/story following this timeline but idk don't get your hopes up jfhdjfh
> 
> apologies if anyone is OOC ;;;;


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